


Assimilation

by morgothic



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon compliment if you squint at it, Gen, Melkor is manipulative, Mind Control, but what else is new, vala phagocytosis?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 11:27:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11668203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgothic/pseuds/morgothic
Summary: In the Halls of Mandos tensions rise as Námo fails to realise just how much danger he's in.





	1. Chapter 1

From the beginning, Melkor had been difficult. When Námo had first encountered him, he had sensed the discontent within the other, but had made no move to try to further approach the discordant one. Why would he? If Iluvatar himself could not help, it would have been beyond arrogance for him to try.

Perhaps though, if he had tried, reached out even once before the Discord introduced into the Great Music, Námo would not now be facing the bound Vala, the aura of death and corruption rolling from the broken form with such palpably as to easily be mistaken as an entity of its own accord.

Surely the others were blind if they thought a mere three ages would even begin to be enough to save one already so befouled by the weight of actions so vile to be so far beyond the comprehension of beings with nought but goodness within. Manwë couldn't even feel the seething hatred directed towards him that practicality fizzled in the air whenever his brother was near.

He must, though, have felt something, to lock the three of them away, so far from life and light. 

Vairë scuttled though, occasionally, her many limbs working at weaving patterns in stilted movements only she could yet understand, her many eyes unheeding of her surroundings but seeing something, certainly, that drove her bizarre dance. She never spoke and rarely acknowledged his existence, though in a brief moment of lucidity not so long ago had locked all her eyes on his and stitched a small, deliberate smile into a stretch of papery skin on her face roughly where a mouth could fit, in what Námo feared to be her attempt at bonding with him.

He too, was always smiling, or so he was told. The grey flesh clinging to his form never quite seemed substantial enough to fully cover the framework beneath as it did with the others, drawing too tightly across his face to display the solid plating of bone beneath wherever an opening allowed it to.

_No wonder they were kept down here, out of sight and mind, where not even his name was spoken for the shame wrought from their kinship to the--_

Námo jerked and mentally hit out at the grasping tendrils at the edge of his consciousness, turning to glare at the figure chained in the corner to the extent that he was able. The grin shot back at him was far too predatory to begin to convey the intended look of innocence.

Námo turned on his heel, shuddering at the ease of which Melkor had took control of his train of thought. A visit to his brother was certainly in order to discuss the best course of action following this disturbing new development. Irmo was always better at dealing with matters of the mind. Something told him that Manwë wouldn't take his fears seriously.

He hoped that something wasn't currently chained to the wall behind him with teeth bared in a rictus of a grin.

It was going to be a long confinement for both of them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Námo discovers ants. Obvious metaphors are obvious. Sorry about this chapter being taken over by my arthropod obsession.

That these were the Halls of the dead seemed to be small deterrent to insects. Tiny, black bodied creatures bearing blades of grass were the first to arrive, marching in though cracks too small for him to have elsewise noticed. None lived in the Halls, so far as he could tell, only using them as a shortcut between Yavanna's pastures and wherever they took the leaves.

Námo would happily observe them for hours- they certainly made for better company than either of his companions.

Irmo had been of no help. When he had eventually managed to track his brother down, he had only been chided, both for not expecting Melkor to try such things and for leaving him alone over such a small matter while everyone was so busy. Who but Melkor could imagine what he'd get up to?

He hadn't left the Halls since then, nor interacted with Melkor. Some time alone would probably to both of them some good.

With the presence of the leaf carriers established, other creatures began to arrive, taking up more permanent residence. From eight legged weavers bearing an uncanny resemblance to his wife to other, larger six legged insects, they picked off individuals in the ever increasing flow of living traffic through the secluded corner of the Halls of Mandos.

He had wondered, at first, about the purpose of the larger bodied ones with oversized mouthparts that always travelled with the stream of insects, never carrying leaves but evidently being recognised as belonging with the rest. With the new arrivals he soon leaned their purpose. Whenever anything openly tried to attack the carriers they would attack, tearing the assailant to pieces with their strong pincers.

The weavers, he noticed, were rarely caught in this way, staying distant from their prey and waiting for either the carriers or their predators to wander into their well placed webs, entangling themselves hopelessly beyond escape. The ones that fell from their webs or tried a more direct approach quickly died. Námo was fascinated by the growing intricacy of their traps over time, successful designs being adapted and diversified as the generations flowed by in front of him.

The only other species he rarely saw be killed by the guards were uncanny, six legged creatures that, upon killing a lone carrier, would wear the husk of the corpse over its own body, walking and killing freely among the living ones, constantly adding to it's disguise.

Both varieties of predator he assumed must have been some odd thought of Melkor's. How anyone could even convince of such odd, cunning creatures was beyond him, though Námo had to admit they certainly held a fascinatingly morbid appeal.

Perhaps when Melkor stopped growing and attempting to wrench his bindings from the wall Námo would discuss them with him.


End file.
